


Higher Ground

by Shazrolane



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, but there is a coffee shop involved I promise, not really your normal coffee shop AU, now I want muffins, probably not an AU at all, this is what happens when I try to write a coffee shop AU, what kind of coffee does the Winter Soldier drink anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/pseuds/Shazrolane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RedBessRackham wrote a coffee shop AU where Bucky sat in a coffee shop, staring at Steve Roger's apartment building, wanting to reunite with his friend. My brain thought, what if he was there for a different reason?</p><p>AKA this is what happens when I try to write a coffee shop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_b_rackham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/gifts), [finaljoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [and you can tell everybody this is your song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821196) by [red_b_rackham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham). 



> This was much improved by finaljoy and Red Bess Rackham at The Beta Branch. http://thebetabranch.prophpbb.com/ I, of course, managed to tinker with it after they gave me all of the feedback, so any remaining/additional errors are mine alone.

Higher Ground

Soldiers, Keep on warrin'  
World, Keep on turnin'  
Cause it won't be too long.  
Powers, Keep on lyin',  
While your people  
Keep on dyin'  
World, Keep on turnin',  
Cause it won't be too long.

~ ‘Higher Ground’ by Stevie Wonder (even though I'm a heathen and like the version by the Red Hot Chili Peppers)

The bell over the door rang merrily as the third customer of the day walked in. He had brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and was wearing a camo jacket that was too heavy for the spring morning. Joan wasn’t exactly an expert in these things, but the jacket might have been military issue. Then again, as a major in astrophysics, most of her military knowledge came from movies.

“Hey there! Welcome to Higher Ground,” she said with a forced smile on her face. This was the most difficult part of the job for her, interacting with customers. She was much happier buried deeply in the lab, immersed in her work. But that didn’t pay the bills, so here she was.

The guy was standing in the middle of the ground floor room, staring at the wall of Tibetan prayer flags, photos of famous climbs like El Capitan, posters of the Seven Summits, and the framed pictures of climbers on top of various mountains around the world. The current CD was playing songs from Nepal at a soft volume. The very calm, zen-like vibe of the place was offset somewhat by the two storey climbing wall, complete with harnesses, that took up most of the eastern wall.

He turned to her, his face was blank, almost robotic. "What is this place?" he asked, some sort of an Eastern European accent to his words. His voice was rough.

“Um, Higher Ground? You know, coffee grounds...the owner likes climbing, he said he got tired of the down time in between trips and wished he could just climb any time he wanted to so...” she realized she was dangerously close to babbling and shut up.

While she was talking, he had turned a full circle, scanning all areas of the shop, finally coming to rest on the climbing wall.

“I can call Anthony if you want to climb,” she offered. “He’s in the back working on his thesis, but he’s always happy to spot.”

He tilted his head to one side, then replied, “Unnecessary risks are not to be taken.”

‘Little creepy,’ she thought to herself. "It's not everybody’s thing," Joan agreed. "Since you don't want to climb, can I get you something to drink?"

Mr. Eastern Europe looked at the two other customers, sipping their coffees as they stared at their phone or tablet. His eyes came back to hers. “Something to drink.”

“Do you like all of the new stuff, or just coffee?”

He blinked, then replied slowly, “Just...coffee?”

“House coffee is Kona, it’s really pretty good.” She showed him her mug. “It’s what I’m drinking.”

“What you are drinking,” he said a bit absently, staring up at the loft and the giant plate glass window that made up the entire front of the shop. She quickly filled a mug, poured in a generous shot of cinnamon syrup and pushed it across the counter to him. He reached into a pocket on his pants and pulled out a handful of bills, dumping all of them on the counter. 

She raised her eyebrows, then took the smallest bill that would pay for the coffee. She turned from the cash register to hand him his change, but he was already climbing the stairs to the loft. Joan shrugged and put the change into the jar on the counter.

Two hours later, when the morning rush was over, she climbed the stairs herself to clean the tables and sweep the floor. He was standing in front of the window, staring at the building across the street. Or maybe the sidewalk and the people walking down it.

“Have you been standing this entire time?” she asked.

He turned to look at her, nodded, then went back to staring.

“Ooookay. You’ve been up here a while. Hungry for anything?” she queried.

“Hungry,” he agreed, never taking his gaze from the building. She waited, but he never elaborated. She shrugged, and brought him a vanilla chai muffin, one of their best sellers. He absent mindedly took a bite of the muffin, then stopped and looked at the baked good as if it held some of the secrets of the universe before taking another huge bite. She chuckled.

“Those are good, aren’t they? Anthony, the owner, bakes them himself.”

Instead of answering, he stuffed the muffin into his mouth again, quickly devouring the rest of it.

“I’ll just get you another one of those, okay?” She didn’t wait for confirmation. 

When she returned with the second muffin, he handed her a fistful of bills, and again she took just enough to pay for them, but this time, she went ahead and kept the change.

He left just as the after lunch rush started. When Bess came in at three, he was perfect fodder for gossip. “I don’t think he sat down the entire time. It was just odd. He was kind of creeping me out.”

Bess spun herself around on the stool that they kept behind the counter, for the sole purpose of spinning on it. “You said he had on a military jacket. Maybe he’s a vet. My uncle got weirded out by really strange things. You never know what someone’s been through.”

Of course, now Joan felt guilty for all of her uncharitable thoughts. She pushed them down, and let lattes, frappucinos and iced coffees occupy her brain until it was time to go home.

On Tuesdays Bess opened the shop, so Joan spent the morning watching tv. After two hours, she couldn’t help herself, and she called the shop, “Hey Bess, is the guy there?”

“Yep, sure is. Ordered a coffee. I gave him hazelnut syrup. He seemed to like it. At least, he’s drinking it. Think I should bring him some muffins?” Bess asked.

“Yes, please,” Joan said. Guilt made her add, “I’ll pay for them.”

“No problem, I think I’ll give him some of those spice cake ones,” Bess said. “Hey, did you lock up last night?”

“Yeah, I know I did. The key’s sticking again, I had to curse at it in three languages before the stupid door stayed locked and I actually got the key out of the lock,” Joan replied.

“You speak three languages?” Bess asked, sounding as if she had come out from behind the counter.

Joan blushed. “Klingon totally counts when you’re cursing at something.”

“TOTALLY not judging here, just saying, you *might* want to get out a little more. Anyway, I was checking, because the door wasn’t locked when I got here this morning,” said Bess. “Hey, mysterious stranger dude! Joan said you liked our muffins yesterday, which of course you would because the vanilla chai muffins rock, but I thought you might like to try these, they go better with the hazelnut.”

Joan just blushed and hung up. He was gone by the time she started her evening shift. Bess sidled up to her and confided, “I couldn’t take it, watching him stand there. So I tried to talk him in some of the other chairs, like the sky chair, you know?” Joan nodded. “But it was a total bust in that department. Didn’t like the mitt chair or the bean bags, not even the high backed one, then I thought Ah ha! And I grabbed that one out of Anthony’s office, you know, the one that’s covered in fur and looks like the love child of a chair and a puppy?”

Joan had to giggle at that mental image, but she couldn’t deny that it was an accurate description of the chair. 

Bess continued, “So anyway, I lugged it all the way upstairs, and I put it in front of the window and said ‘Voila! A nice place for you to sit, sir!”

“And?” 

Bess beamed. “He sat in it!”

Joan opened on Wednesday, and her stranger was there, this time asking for a cup of Kona in his soft voice, which was sounding much less gravelly. When she came upstairs, she brought two almond croissants to where he was sitting in the fuzzy puppy chair. Again, he took one bite, looked at the pastry, and then gobbled them up like he hadn’t eaten anything since the muffins yesterday. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked again at his battered maybe-military jacket. She pushed his money back when he offered it, instead giving him a smile and saying, “Thanks for your service.”

He turned from the building at that. Eventually he nodded and went back to staring at the building. She had to admit, he didn’t look as creepy when he had croissant crumbs all over the front of his jacket.

On Thursday, during her mid-morning break, she slipped out of the shop and ran to the deli down the street, buying him a meatball sub. He accepted it without comment, just like the muffins, as if he expected a coffee shop to have meatball subs. When she smiled at him, the corners of his mouth turned up, in a rusty but genuine smile.

By Friday, she got up the courage to sit down across the table for him. “Are you looking for someone in particular in that building?” she asked lightly.

He took his attention off it for a moment to look at her. He finally answered, simply, “Yes.”

“This person is pretty important to you?” she guessed.

“He’s my...I need to find him,” came the answer.

“You should go talk to him,” she said.

He surprised her with a short laugh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Joan didn’t know what to say to that (this was more human interaction than she’d had with any of the customers before) so she stood up to finish her sweeping.

He didn’t come in over the weekend, but he was back on Monday.

“Hey, you got a hoodie!” she said with a smile.

“The jacket was too con...too hot,” he said. She didn’t ask what word he had started to say. She gave him a large Kona with vanilla syrup instead.

At midmorning, she brought him two coffee cake muffins and a McDonald’s gift card.

“What’s this for?” he asked softly.

She blushed. “You always seem hungry. I...guess I just want to make certain that you have something to eat when you aren’t here.”

“I… don’t know what to say,” he said.

“Usually, you say thank you,” she replied.

“Thank you,” he said, with another of those rusty smiles.

Tuesday morning, Bess reported that he was there, and she gave him hazelnut syrup in his coffee again, and two banana nut muffins. She also asked Joan why she’d moved the tree in the pot up in the loft.

“I didn’t move anything, Bess,” she said.

“Well I sure as heck didn’t move the thing, it must weigh a hundred pounds or something.”

On Wednesday, she had his coffee waiting for him, this time with honey. He smiled at her, said, “Thank you,” and gave her exact change for the coffee. Then he put a five dollar bill into the tip jar.

As soon as the morning rush was over, she was putting two lemon drop muffins on a tray when she heard a noise like one of the potted plants being knocked over. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it!” she called out and headed upstairs. 

As she reached the top of the stairs, she saw him, standing in front of the huge plate glass window, a rifle in his hands. A huge tongue of fire came out of the front of it, and the boom of the rifle echoed around the room like nothing she’d ever heard. She froze in shock as time seemed to slow down. The window shattered, glass slowly falling down, any noise it made covered by the horrible ringing in her ears. 

Hours (seconds?) later, when the glass finished falling, she saw a man laying on the sidewalk across the street, with blood all around him and people just starting to run away. 

Her stranger dropped the rifle and walked over to where she stood at the top of the stairs. He took the two muffins and smiled at her, then glanced back. 

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, reaching into a different pocket and dumping several hundred dollar bills on her tray. “Thanks for the muffins.” And then he walked out. 

The bells over the front door rang cheerily at his exit as sirens wailed in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Chairs  
> sky chair http://www.skychairs.com/chair.php  
> mitt chair http://cdn3.volusion.com/camw2.5aopx/v/vspfiles/photos/CHR-MITT3529-BU-2.jpg  
> high backed bean bag http://www.associerge.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/the-best-alternative-seating-solution-furniture-lounge-chair-made-from-62798.jpg  
> furry chair http://www.furnishburnish.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/clothing-for-chairs11.jpg

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Highest Ground (Keep on Trying)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147866) by [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet)




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